I press my palm flat against the wall, lean my weight into my arm, and close my eyes. My other hand grips my pendant hard, searching for the warmth in its heart. It responds to my call with a gentle pulse. It almost feels like a greeting.
Taking hold of that pulse, I channel it from my palm, into my wrist, my arm, my heart. There it swirls for a moment before continuing down my other arm and into the wall. It’s a subtle sensation, a faint whisper of vibration. So faint, I could almost believe I made it up.
But no. Deep down inside the wall something answers. Something stirs. This is nothing like when the assassin pinned me to the wall and held his knife to my throat. Then, both his feelings and mine were such a wild storm, the crystals embedded in the wall had seemed to scream out in response. Now my heart is quiet, calm. When I reach for the crystals, they barely whisper in response. But they do respond.
I open my eyes, drop my hand, and take a step back. The wall is smooth, slightly curved, and etched with delicate patterns of cave flowers and creatures for which I have no names. Just a wall, though. Just unyielding stone. No one would guess the amount of life vibrating within.
Frowning slightly, I pluck at my pendant, hold it up to the level of my eyes. No matter how I turn the question round in my mind, I cannot come up with an explanation for how this crystal of the Under Realm came into my possession. It’s almost as though . . . as though someone knew about my gods-gift. Knew how my powers would react to the stones of this world. But that’s a wild thought, surely. No one knows or cares about my gift.
With a sigh, I drop the crystal to rest against my breast. All these questions without answers are going to drive me mad. I feel itchy in my own skin, uncomfortable, desperate for a change of scene. I cast a glance around the room. It’s far less human in style than the queen’s chambers had been. My gaze lingers for a moment on the narrow bed which stands along one wall. It’s covered in white furs and thick blankets and is much smaller than the big bed in the bridal chamber. Room enough to sleep only me.
Vor has not come. It’s been days now. Or lusterlings, I should say. Too long. Agonizingly too long.
Cursing softly, I begin to pace the room. Unsettled frustration burrows deeper and deeper into my soul, turning to anxiety, even panic. I cannot take much more of this isolation! What would happen if I opened the door and told Hael to summon the Shadow King? Would he come? If he did, what would I say?
I close my eyes. Let my mind still, let the storm of emotion fade. Vor’s face appears in my memory, illuminated by a single lorst crystal. I hold onto that image, let it pull me deeper. I feel his strong hand warming my lower back, pressing me against his body. The warmth of his lips hovering over mine, no more than a breath between us. I touch my lower lip with the tip of one finger, trying to recall the sensation, that brush of connection. That instant—there and gone again—when he’d dared lower his mouth to mine.
Our first kiss.
Our first true kiss.
Not a kiss intended for my sister. Not a vicious attack driven by poison.
A kiss meant for me. Gentle. Tentative. So full of longing it had wrung my heart.
Oh, why does he not come?
A sudden burst of voices in the passage outside. I start, my eyes flaring open, and turn to the door. It remains shut fast, but I can hear voices clearly on the other side. Hael and another. Male. My heart leaps then sinks again. That isn’t Vor’s deep, reverberating tone. It’s higher, softer, sweeter.
Frowning, I step across the room to the chamber door and lean my ear close. With a gasp, I spring back. A sudden flash of feeling rippled right through the stone and struck me hard in the chest. For a moment, I stand with both hands pressed against my heart, half-believing I’ve been struck. But it was my gods-gift. Responding to some sharp and unexpected pain. Whose?
Gripping my crystal for support, I step forward again, take hold of the latch, and crack the door open an inch. Hael stands watch just outside. She’s speaking to a boy whom I immediately recognize. Yok, I believe his name is. The young escort Vor charged to watch over me and Lyria when we first arrived in the Under Realm. His face is animated with frustration, a sharp contrast to Hael’s stoic grimness. They growl at each other in troldish, deep in some argument and unaware of my scrutiny.
I bite my lip. Perhaps I should retreat, shut the door again. Give them privacy. Before I can decide, however, another wave of feeling bursts from Hael. It’s so sharp, I gasp.
Hael turns, sees me. Her eyes widen. “Princess. There’s nothing to concern you here. Go back inside.”
I push down the pain of her ire. Then, squaring my shoulders, I turn to the boy. He stares at me, mouth gaping. “What has happened?” I ask.
Yok blinks, swallows, and shoots Hael a swift glance. “Vor . . . That is, the king . . . He’s, um, he’s requested my sister join him. On a special mission. To find Prince Sul.”
At the mention of the king’s brother, another stab of emotion shoots out from Hael. She stifles it at once, but not fast enough. In that split second, she’s revealed the true state of her heart. “What’s happened to the prince?” I ask, still addressing myself to Yok.
“He’s missing,” the boy says. He turns to Hael and speaks in troldish again.
She shakes her head and growls, this time in my own language, “My duty is to the princess.” Her words are heavy with resentment. “Tell the king—”
“You tell him!” Yok barks. “I already tried. I told him I would go instead.”
“You?” Hael looks the boy up and down, her expression disdainful. “You’re not ready. He needs someone he can trust.”
“He can trust me,” the boy responds sulkily. “But he wants you.”
Hael’s mouth shuts fast. Then she growls through her teeth. “I cannot leave the princess.”
Yok utters a string of troldish. I don’t need an interpreter to guess what he’s saying. Hastily, I step forward and touch Hael’s arm, resting my fingers on the leather bracer strapped to her forearm. “It’s all right.” I offer a small smile when she turns to me. “I’m sure this brave young guardsman will perform his duties admirably. I promise not to cause him too much trouble while you’re away.”
Hael opens her mouth to protest, but I can feel her desperation. Even with a barrier of leather between my fingers and her arm, her emotions are so strong, so tumultuous.
“Go on,” I urge gently. “Find the missing prince. And . . . and bring Vor back safely.”
Her eyes flash to meet mine. Wary, hopeful, frightened. With an effort, she draws her feelings in check, locking them down fast. Only then does she turn to Yok, a stream of troldish falling from her tongue. It all sounds so harsh, so heavy. I can almost see the boy’s shoulders bow under their weight. When she’s through, however, she turns to me and says, “Stay safe, Princess. I will return soon.” With that, she strides down the passage. When she reaches the turn at the end, she breaks into a run and vanishes from sight.
Thus, I find myself alone with my new young bodyguard. I look at him. He gapes back at me. “What was your name again?” I ask, though I remember well enough.
“Yok,” he answers. “Guardsman Yok.”
I nod. “You fought bravely to protect Lady Lyria and myself from . . . from . . . what were those creatures called?”
“Woggha.” Yok clears his throat. “Cave devils.”
Memory of the hideous monsters flashes through my mind. Those eyeless, bone-plated faces. The gray, sagging skin. The huge, stone-piercing claws. The Under Realm is full of beauty, but there are horrors lurking in its shadows. Still . . . I remember what it felt like to connect to that beast. Just for a moment, when I stood gripping a large urzul crystal, facing down that leering maw. I’d touched the mind trapped inside the madness. A mind lost to savagery and bloodlust. A mind sunk in despair.
I shiver, the fine hairs on my arms prickling. Pulling my mind back to the present moment, I offer the young man a cool smile. “You have proven your courage and loyalty already, Guardsman Yok. I believe you and I shall get along well.”
“It is my honor to serve you, Princess.”
“Excellent. So long as we understand one another.” With that, I turn on heel and reenter my room, leaving the door open behind me. When Yok reaches out to shut it, I call over my shoulder, “I will inform you when I require privacy.”
The boy freezes. But he doesn’t protest. After a moment, he simply lets go of the latch, backs away, and assumes position outside my door. This could work out rather well, actually. It will be nice to have a bodyguard who isn’t as ferociously intimidating as Captain Hael.
I cross the room and step out onto the balcony. There’s a great deal of activity in the courtyard below. I lean over the rail to watch. Morleth prance and pace, lashing their long, barbed tails. Grooms scramble to hold their reins, dodging snapping fangs and cloven hooves. One of the beasts is bigger than the rest. I’m almost certain it’s Knar, Vor’s own mount.
I chew my bottom lip. My fingers grip the rail. Vor is going. On a mission to find his missing brother. A dangerous mission no doubt. And he hasn’t bothered to take his leave of me. Not that I should expect any such courtesy. Why would a king take leave of his prisoner?
Clenching my hands into fists, I turn on heel and march back into the room. Yok has just assumed a comfortable position at the wall when I appear in the open door. He starts at the sight of me. His eyes nearly dart from his skull. “Princess?”
“Take me to the courtyard.” I hold myself very straight and tall, summoning all the queenly poise of my heritage. Yok’s mouth opens, closes. I watch him try to decide whether or not he should protest. To drive my point home, I add an imperious, “At once.”
That does the trick. Yok leaps into action, indicating the way with a wave of his hand. I fall into step beside him, and he guides me down several flights of stairs and through bewildering stone passages. I try not to stare as I go. But it is difficult. I’ve seen little of the palace so far. It’s truly a wondrous, magnificent structure, unlike any I’ve ever before seen. Ancient and ageless, cold, echoing, and full of shadows. Yet here and there, glowing crystals reveal awe-inspiring rock formations. I spy homely touches as well, woven rugs and tapestries, glimpses of salons and private galleries, of statues and intricate moldings. All of these flash in the tail of my eye as I hurry at my bodyguard’s side.
Most impressive of all, however, are the people. The tall, terrible, beautiful trolde men and women, denizens of the household. I take care not to meet their gazes . . . gazes which no doubt observed both my wedding and my near-execution with the same interest. They openly stare at me, however, their pale eyes intent. I feel positively dwarfed by their towering stature, humbled by their otherworldly beauty. But I carry myself as tall as I can, determined to move with confidence, to betray no fear.
We come at last to the entrance hall, which I recognize from my first arrival at the palace. It seems so long ago now that I was carried through the city in a curtained litter and deposited here in the center of this floor, beneath that huge, domed ceiling. The echoing space is full of activity now—servants assisting warriors into armor, strapping on greaves, pauldrons, and bracers. I spy Captain Hael among them. She’s just lifting her helmet to her head when she sees me and Yok under an arch on the edge of the hall. She opens her mouth, prepared to call out.
A voice speaks directly behind me: “What are you doing here?”
Shock like lightning streaks down my spine. Thrilling, almost painful. My knees go weak, but I lock them fast and school my face into a careful mask. Drawing a breath, I turn around to face the speaker. Vor. Tall and towering, a figure of majestic strength, clad in beautiful armor etched in intricate patterns. The pauldrons’ edges are sharp as blades, the bracers and greaves set with spikes. He looks like a legend come to life, and the sight is enough to make my head spin and my heart shiver in my breast.
Then I lift my gaze to his face. He’s not yet donned his helmet, and I can see him clearly. Though his features are hard and stern as stone, his eyes betray him. They are the eyes of a man half-starved. When they meet my gaze, I feel the surge of his emotion, red and blazing. So many feelings, a cacophony of fear, anger, anxiety. And underneath it all, like the deep beat of a drum, desire.
I fight the impulse to reach out to him. Every urge tells me to take his face between my hands, to draw him down to me. But I cannot. Because, though his feelings are strong, they are not clear. I do not know what he truly wants. So I fold my hands neatly before me, and lift my chin a little higher. “You are going away?” I say, my voice low and calm.
He nods. “As you see.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know.” His lower jaw works. His teeth flash in the lorst light. “Not long, I hope.”
“Is it dangerous? Where you are going?”
“I don’t know.” Another hesitation, then, “Most likely.”
My stomach twists. I’m painfully aware of all the eyes watching us, of the sudden silence filling the cavernous hall at my back. “You will be careful.” Try though I might, I cannot help the slight quaver in my voice.
His expression tightens. Another wave of emotion radiates from him, another burst of that complicated storm. He fights it back valiantly, however, shuts it down hard behind the walls of his heart. “I will.” He glances at Yok then back to me again. “You shouldn’t leave your room, Princess.”
“I am not a prisoner,” I remind him sharply.
He shakes his head. Then, abruptly, he lifts the helmet in his hands and puts it on. The long cheek-plates cover his face, and the brim shadows his eyes so that they are no more than two bright sparks. “It’s better for all of us if you stay out of sight,” he growls.
With those words, he pushes past me, striding into the hall. I turn, and watch him go. My heart aches so badly, I want to grab my chest, desperate to ease the pain. But I dare not betray myself so obviously. So, I simply watch him as he speaks a few low, rumbling words of troldish to his people, then strides into the courtyard. The others follow after him, though Hael pauses in the doorway long enough to shoot a final warning glance at me and Yok.
Then they’re gone. Gone to face unknown perils. Leaving me behind in this cold, stone world.
A little whimper in my throat, I pick up the hem of my gown, step out from under the archway, and race across the now empty hall, ignoring Yok’s yelp of protest. I reach the still-open door and look out into the courtyard, down the broad steps. Morleth stamp and snort, blowing black fumes from their nostrils as grooms struggle to hold them steady for their riders. Vor is there, already astride Knar. He surveys his people, and I think . . . I hope . . . I wish . . . his gaze flashes ever so briefly up at me in the doorway. But I’m not sure. In fact, I’m almost certain I’m mistaken.
Vor raises a fist over his head. “Drag-or, ortolarok!”
His people answer, arms upraised, their rough voices barking: “Rhozah! Rhozah!”
Their voices still ringing against the high stone walls, they spur their mounts into motion. Morleth hooves strike sparks from stone as they stream from the courtyard and out into the city beyond. Soon there is nothing left in their wake but a haze of drifting smoke.
